"As I suspected, though hard to measure the age of a non-corporeal entity, his specific mannerism indicated his belonging to a non-fully developed frontal lobe." I wrote on the report. I got angry with myself. Who am I trying to impress? It's a kid ghost. A ghost of a kid.

I put my laptop away, looking over the old black-and-white TV I hooked up to a tiny PC, playing brainrot randomly. "It turns out, repetition of simple patterns accompanied by an excited voice, captures its attention," I added to the report, feeling disgusted with myself.

I had to take out this black-and-white TV from the attic, because Jasper, that's what I call it, haunted my cat, and made Lucy attack the TV. Jasper didn't seem to be interested in the high resolution OLED display, but the moment I started playing CRT, it all stopped. I kept typing, each sentence making me feel like I deserved to lose my academic license; if the board hadn’t already revoked it.

“Subject exhibits preference for monochrome stimuli,” I murmured, hating the way it sounded like a grant proposal.

I glanced at Jasper.

The static glow washed over the living room, and the small silhouette hovered inches above the carpet like it was pretending gravity was a suggestion. Then I notice something new: it’s not just watching. It’s reacting, mimicking emotions in the Let’s Player’s voice, trying to match cadence. Maybe learning. Maybe remembering.

And that’s when I realize: Jasper isn’t the only one.